


Discipline

by Anonymous



Category: Mianite - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Family Dynamics, Graphic Description, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jealousy, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Multi, Non-Consensual Groping, Non-Consensual Touching, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Public Humiliation, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Survivor Guilt, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threesome - M/M/M, Tom Goes Through A Lot, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-01-04 16:32:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18347462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Mianitee's had strict guidelines, a firm hand for those who stepped out of line. The Ianitee's had reformation and teaching. But Dianitee's?They had something different entirely.





	1. Hurting

**Author's Note:**

> In which Tom suffers a great deal, and is silent.
> 
> This isn't a happy fic.
> 
> HEAVY Trigger warnings for R*pe, Non-Con,

You can remember almost every detail of the first time he touched you if you try hard enough. The way his hands trailed down your skin, the way the sheets felt underneath your hands. The way you fought, at first, and then cried. He had carded his hand through your hair so gently, cooing as you kicked and screamed and  _ fought _ .

 

“A punishment,” He had said, as he worked you open with his fingers. “For your disloyalty.” You had screamed when his hips met yours, pinning you down with one hand. It was true what they said about the Nether god. His hands were like brands, searing heat that burned your skin and made you tighten around him. It had hurt so badly that you passed out, waking to his hands still on your hips, cock still buried inside of you. 

 

He had called you pretty, afterwards, when you were pulled up against him, pretending not to notice the feeling of his seed running down your thighs. You had just let it happen, letting him kiss you and touch you where he wanted. He was your god, after all. Mianite didn’t want you. You had nowhere else to go. 

 

So you stayed, even as the incidents with Dianite got worse. Your friends spotted the bruises one day, pulling you aside to ask if you were alright. You brushed them off, pretending like you were embarrassed. Like you had some secret lover that you didn’t want them to know about. They had laughed, teased you some more. Hopefully they couldn’t see behind your smile. 

 

It was strange. Your friends had always called you a bad liar. Too open. Too emotional. But they couldn’t see past this mask, this charade you had put up. Maybe one day, you could tell them about your suffering. But not now. Not when Dianite could so easily kill everyone you love.

 

********

Furia liked to brag, especially when it came to his disgusting methods for torture. His latest tales of ripping the nails off of a young Ianitee soldier made you sick.  You hated him, with every fibre of your being. But he had someone you cared for, someone who had stood up for you. Captain Capsize. 

 

She had looked concerned the first time she had spotted the bruises, but had said nothing. Afterwards, she had pulled you aside and asked who was hurting you, and what she could do to help. You played the marks off the same as you had before, but she wasn’t as easily fooled. It was there in her eyes. But she could tell that you didn’t want to talk about them, and left you alone about them.

 

And now she was trapped, doomed to a horrible end if you didn’t do something about it. You had to do something, anything to get her out of that hell. So you propositioned Furia, inviting him to do the same to you as Dianite. (You had noticed his roaming eyes ever since you had been introduced.) Just as you thought, Furia accepted.

 

He had been kinder than Dianite, although he left seared marks on your hips that lasted for days afterwards. It hadn’t hurt as bad as when Dianite had his fun (although that could have been because of Furia’s size), and thus it was easier to let him fuck you into his mattress as you tried not to think about how dirty you felt.

 

How dirty you were.

 

********

Furia once found you and Dianite, in the middle of one of your sessions. You were pressed up against a wall, pants around your knees and Dianite holding you in place as he took his pleasure. By now, it was easier to just let him take what he wanted, and stay still. To not fight. Not scream. All it did was make him happier, furthered his arousal.

 

Dianite had laughed, gripped your hip harder as you tried to squirm away from him, from Furia. You could feel him throbbing in you, as Furia’s eyes raked over the two of you. He offered you up to Furia, with the knowledge of your recent escapades with him. Furia had laughed, and told Dianite that he’d at least want you to be bent over something, so he could watch you as you were fucked.

 

They had forced you over Dianite’s desk, in an office that was hardly ever used. Dianite had pushed into you without a second though, forcing a scream from your mouth.

 

“Please.” You had cried out, practically begging as Furia began pulling off his outer layers, revealing himself to you and Dianite. “Please don’t.” You whimpered as Furia grabbed a fistful of your hair, tugging you forwards, your cheek slapping against his cock. Turning your head as best you could, you unknowingly tightened around Dianite, making to god growl.

 

“Oh, let him keep writhing. He gets so beautifully tight when he struggles.” Furia chuckled at that, his hand backhanding you, stunning you for a moment. Cock was forced into your mouth and you gaged as Furia started to match Dianite’s pace. Closing your eyes, you tried to block out the cramping in your legs, the way your gag reflex was being tickled by Furia’s dick. If you could block it out, it wouldn’t be happening.

 

********

You had scrubbed at your skin until it bled and ached under your fingers. But you weren’t free of the feeling of hands on your hips, your hair, running up and down your sides, pinching, prodding, spreading apart. Breaking and hurting and making you wrong and broken. The man you were when you first arrived on the island was long gone. You could see it. Tucker and Sonja and your friends could see it. Even Mianite had casually mentioned it on his monthly smite-filled visit. You had been hurt. Been changed.

 

You hoped it wasn’t too late to go back to the man you were before. You wanted to be him again.

 

********

Your heart almost stopped the moment you saw Dianite in the arena, sure that he would spill your dirty little secret. (Somehow, instead of being something Dianite had to hide, it had become your own personal disgrace. You sometimes wondered why the shame all fell onto your lap.)

 

But he had stayed silent, not even casting you a meaningful look, or a smirk. He simply ignored you, You couldn’t deny that it hurt. Maybe if he had revealed your secret you might have felt better, although ashamed. Maybe he knew that you would never,  _ could _ never tell anyone about what he and Furia had done to you. Maybe that was his idea of a punishment for your disloyalty. 

 

Capsize was dead, and it was all your fault. Redbeard made that much clear. She had died by his hand, with nothing you could do to aid her or ease her suffering. Besides her death. Jordan was heartbroken, sobbing against your shoulder as you stared at the lifeless corpse of the only person who had tried to figure out what had changed you. You blinked back your own tears. Now was not the time to cry. Now as the time to comfort your friends. You could find your own comfort later.

 

********

The Void had been boring, an endless sea of greys and black swirls. This new world wasn't much better. You got a bad feeling from it, although most of that distrust came from the King himself. Andor was nice, but the apple fell far, far away from the tree in this case. You had noticed his eyes on you, the heat that had filled them not unsimilar to the way Furia had looked at you.

 

He had had the worst deal out of anyone. Let him do what he wanted, and he wouldn’t tell the town, or worse, the Lieutenant, about you being a Dianitee, and Jordan being an Ianitee. But it was what you had, so you took it.

 

Was this going to be your life? Whoring yourself out to greedy old men so that you could take comfort in your friends safety? At least they would be spared this treatment.

 

Helgrind only wanted to use your mouth though, so it was easier to just block out everything and focus on breathing through your nose and trying to to think about the cock in your mouth. On one of these nights, he had been going at it for hours, using and spending on your face, watching it dry ad doing it again. Your knees portested, and you knew that they, along with everything else in you, would ache for days after.

 

There was a creaking sound, like a door opening, and Helgrind froze in your mouth. Your eyes snapped open, and you almost screamed as Alister, the Lieutenant strode in, a nonchalant grin on his face. He greeted Helgring warmly, and Helgrind started to move in your mouth again, albeit slower this time. You coughed as you watched Alister watch the two of you for a minute, before starting to unbuckle his pants Tears leaked from your eyes as you watched him take his cock out, stroking along the shaft slowly, simply taking in the sight of Helgrind using your mouth.

 

It was too much. You didn’t want this - you didn’t want either of them doing this. But the press of cold steel against your throat reminded you what, or who in this case, this was for. Your friends.

 

********

The abuse was endless. Alister would approach you, and cart you off somewhere to have his fun. He was the most sadistic person you had ever met, and took unmeasurable pleasure from watching you cry. He, along with Helgrind, had decided that your little stunt against the King, and the Town, had to be repaid.

 

So they sold you to groups of soldiers, guards, two, three, or even four at a time. The (mostly) younger men were eager, and there would usually be multiple groups using you a night. But you kept it under wraps, using mining trips and other excuses to explain away how long you slept in, how tired you always seemed in the mornings.

 

Really, you just wanted things to end. If Alister and Helgring were gone, then the soldiers wouldn’t be able to get to you. But they remained in Town, and so you struggled on, taking and taking and taking until you couldn’t anymore.

 

One day at your forge, you imagined ending to all with the blade you had just crafted. It would be quick, and relatively painless. You wouldn’t be used anymore, no one would be able to hurt you. But your friends needed you, needed your sacrifice, and so you put the blade down, hands shaking.

 

Your friends would be safe, one day. One day, you might be able to have someone touch your bare skin and not feel like throwing up. But that day was far, far from now.

 

 


	2. Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom suffers a great deal, and is silent. But over many months, Tom begins to let himself heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for: Mentions of Rape, Non/Con, Self degradation, Victim blaming.

Life moved at a snail's pace, the world remaining still and unchanging. You laughed and talked to your friends at day, and at night you tried to protect them as best you could. At least there was less bruises, now. 

 

Helgrind had all but disappeared, which removed you from most of the soldiers. Alister remained, but the visits became less and less. You allowed yourself to relax, to believe that everything was over.

 

You were wrong. You were so, so wrong.

 

* * *

 

The King had sent his son to prison. You remembered the way he looked as his son was dragged away, those blank eyes, the ever so slight curl of his mouth. He was happy. He was happy that his son was going to be beaten and tortured and oh gods, what if Alister did the same thing to Andor that he was doing to you?

 

There was a sinking feeling in your stomach as you sat in you house that night, watching the armoured figure approaching you. You had to make sure that Andor would be fine. He was too young for this, gods, _you_ were to young for this. But you had to. You repeated that phrase like a mantra as you sunk to your knees (in your own home, gods this was humiliating), looking up at Alister through your lashes. 

 

You knew that this was wrong. That if your friends found out they would be appalled. But this would likely be your only chance to help Andor, even if the young man wasn’t exactly fond of you. He was Jordan’s friend. Therefore, he was yours too.

 

* * *

 

Everything you had done was for nothing. Your chest had hurt so bad when Jordan and Martha helped Andor out of that cell. He had tried to put on a brave face, but you could tell he was hurting. It reminded you of yourself, in a strange, twisted way. You weren’t happy that Andor had been hurt, but gods, you could tell that he could’ve gotten much worse. 

 

At least there was one good thing about this prison break. Or maybe two, if you were being hopeful. Helgrind had apologized and helped you and your friends to escape. He didn’t meet your eyes as you helped Andor up the ramp. Steve had fought Alister and won, and wow you felt as if a weight had dropped from your shoulders. You all piled into the Flyanite, and you couldn’t stop yourself from placing your hand on Jordan’s shoulder and sharing a grin. Today had been better than you could’ve hoped, you thought as you slipped to sleep.

 

(You were rudely awakened by a jostling, and you realized that you were being picked up. Terror filed you, but only for a moment, as a familiar cologne hit your nose. It was just Jordan. Faintly, there were other noises, but your mind placed them as the sounds of the various machines Jordan had. You relaxed, letting your head rest on his shoulder. He let out that quiet giggle of his, before the sounds of machinery became silent. You dozed off again, not stirring when Jordan placed you down, gently removing your shoes and coat before pulling a blanket around you. “Night Tom” Jordan’s voice was quiet. “Love you.” It was nice, you thought distantly as your mind once more began to slip into nothingness, to be loved.)

 

* * *

 

You and your friends get closer, and you couldn’t be more happy about it. There were picnics and sleepovers and pranks and gods, you loved it. (you wondered if this was what you had missed out on in the first world, while off being Dianite’s _plaything._ You try not to think about it.) Everything was getting better. You could stand to have people touch you, for the most part. Jordan swinging an arm over your shoulder, or Sonja grasping you by the elbow, or Tucker slapping you on the back no longer made your blood run cold. It was good. Life was good; or at least, getting better.

 

Then everything came crashing down.

 

You had been away on a mining trip, returning to your house with sacks full of ores and loot (and way too much of cobblestone). Jordan had knocked on the door that afternoon, and Tucker and Sonja had been behind him. You blabbered on about your trip and your new things and _hey, if you guys ever need anything-_

 

But Jordan had cut you off. He had said that something big had happened while you were away. Tucker and Sonja had grim looks on their faces, and for a moment, your heart almost stopped. Oh gods. Someone was dead. Was it Wag or Steve, Martha maybe? Oh gods, please don’t let it be Andor. You followed Jordan’s lead and sat down on the sofa, Tucker and Sonja flanking you. Jordan sat opposite you, taking a moment to think about whatever he was going to say. The room was tense, and you wanted nothing more than to be back down in your mines, digging away with no worries. Then, Jordan sat up straight, looking you in the eyes. You met his gaze, and could feel yourself freezing in place as he spoke.

 

“Dianite’s back.”

 

* * *

 

Time seemed to stretch on for hours after Jordan spoke. All three of them were looking at you expectantly, waiting for some kind of reaction, anything. But you just felt numb. Gods, you had been stupid. You had thought that you were safe. You couldn’t be safe, not if Dianite was back. He would hurt you again and you could feel your breathing picking up. Someone’s hand was on your shoulder, but you couldn’t hide the involuntary flinch at the contact. You needed- Gods, you needed a lot, but the touch was too much. Your eyes were starting to sting and there were people talking around you but everything was just muffled and you couldn’t make out any words. It was too much. Everything was just too much and you wanted your friends to both go away and stay and help you. But none of them were doing that and everything was wrong and bad and gods, you wanted to cry. Forcing your eyes closed, you pressed your chin to your chest, your arms wrapping around your stomach. The stinging became too much and you opened your eyes, not caring anymore if there were tears. Your nails were digging into your forearms and there was pain in your arms. Fuck, this was horrible.

 

There was some murmuring in the distance, and you could make out some of the words. “Tom! _… Call… Martha… scared… not okay just come...please._ ” It was you who was doing this. This was all your fault. Just life Dianite and Furia and Capsize and Helgrind and Alister and Andor was your fault. You were audibly crying, you could hear it, and your throat was closing up. **_You’re nothing_ ** , Dianite hissed in your head. **_Nothing but a useless waste of a champion, and an even worse lay._ **

 

You couldn’t breathe - oh gods you couldn’t breathe something was choking you couldn’t it hurt gods you were such a mess. You must look pathetic, you always do when you cry. There was a commotion but you hardly noticed, and someone was in front of you. Your head was _loud_ though, swirling with the mocking voices and the pain in your arms and the memories that you had never wanted to see again.

 

“Panic attack.” You heard Martha saying amidst all of the noise. There were other murmurs, and then Martha was kneeling down in front of you. “Breathe with me Tom.” She breathed in and out slowly, and you tried to copy her. It was more like you were gasping, breath hitching as you tried to follow, but you could feel your fear slowly evaporating. “Good job Tom.” Martha said, smiling at you. Something heavy and warm was being draped over your shoulders, and some distant part of your brain recognized it as a weighted blanket. 

 

But that kind of thinking was too much right now. You felt tired and numb and your eyes feel dry. The blanket felt good, though (you would’ve loved to wrap it around yourself, but your damn hands were still digging into your arms). You still couldn’t really move, and you weren’t sure you could if you tried. 

 

“Tom.” Oh, Jordan was talking to you. You looked up at him, realizing that Martha wasn’t the only person who showed up. Wag and Steve and Andor were there, but all three were very politely pretending that you weren’t on the verge of a breakdown in your own living room. “Can I sit with you?” You nodded, the movement feeling stiff and unnatural. He left space between the two of you as Martha stood, gesturing for Tucker and Sonja to follow. Gods, you were tired. And your throat ached. And you had probably made your friends hate you or think you were weird. But that was future you’s problem; all you really wanted now was to sleep. Preferably for forever.

 

Shuffling closer to Jordan, you licked your lips, mouth opening but no words coming out. You stifled a yawn, and decided that you didn’t really need to talk to show him what you wanted. The blanket may have fallen slightly, but you were successfully able to rest your head against Jordan’s shoulder. He was comfy, but not when he was all tense. You gently knocked him in the ribs with your elbow.

 

“C’mon Jordan…” You whined, internally grimacing at the way your voice sounded. Childish and needy. But his shoulder dropped, and you pressed your forehead to his neck, feeling a tentative hand reaching over you to pull the blanket over you. This was nice. Probably more than you deserved but for now… maybe just this once, you could let yourself have something nice.

 

* * *

 

You did eventually meet up with Dianite, but in a very… protected environment. Jordan was with you, and Martha had been able to help Dianite become more visible. You had stammered through most of your words, but he was nice. He asked about you and what you liked to do, and he told you about his previous champion and what he was like when he was alive. All in all, it was a surprisingly pleasant experience. He seemed more down to earth and calm than the Dianite you knew.

 

Jordan was walking you back to your house, and you slipped your hand into his. He flushed, eyes darting from your hands to your face, and you just smiled at him.

 

“Thank you.” You were at the door to your house, but you didn’t really want to let go of Jordan’s hand. The contact was nice, and by now, the sickness that you had previously felt was all but nonexistent. Jordan was still flushed, and really, why was he allowed to be this… cute. Bastard. (You had felt things towards Jordan for a long time, but everything had to be pressed down down down where it couldn’t be corrupted by what had happened to you.) 

 

Jordan’s laugh was shaky and light, and he was somehow able to get even redder than before. It was an impressive feat, really. 

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” He asked, and you smiled and nodded, giving his hand a squeeze before it slipped out of your grasp. You watched him leave, and wondered if maybe you could love him. (You had already answered that question, though.)

 

* * *

 

It had been an unexpected couple of months. You were still dancing around Jordan (though, the dancing was reciprocated, as far as you could tell), and everyone was treating you differently. Not a bad different, just a noticeable one. 

 

And then he showed up. Well, Mot, to be exact. He had just appeared in one of Jordan’s portals, flirted with Jordan, and then found Dianite and flirted with him too. You had bickered about being Dianite’s champion, though your heart wasn’t in it. (You didn’t really care much for the title of champion anymore. It had long lost its grandeur for you.) Then you had a picnic and talked about Dianite’s ass. Among other things. Though, you had noticed him eyeing you strangely when out with the whole group; when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

 

His story about staying in another world - _your_ world -  for ten years was troubling. Mot said he had spoken to the Dianite there. To your Dianite (though you really hated calling him yours). You wondered how much he knew, or if he even knew at all. Maybe he only knew what the others did; that your relationship with the other Dianite wasn’t great. You hoped that that was all he knew.

 

Judging by the way he was looking at you, you were probably right. Well, and by the way he all but cornered you afterwards to ask, in a very calm and soft voice, if the other Dianite had ever hit you or hurt you. You had tried to dodge the question, laugh it off, but the look in his eyes was so sincere, so real and worried, that you had to tell him something. 

 

So Mot was the first person you told a portion of the truth too. Even if the truth boiled down to ‘he used to hurt me a lot, especially if I messed up a mission’. That was enough to make him back off a bit, and enough for Dianite to tell you that he would never lay a hand on you if he ever got his body back. And that he would personally make sure that your Dianite was tossed into the Void to rot.

 

Things were getting better, though. You felt better about yourself and what had happened to you. It was like you could move on and start your life again. Which was really relieving, because honestly, Jordan’s shy smiles and cute laugh and the way his eyes lit up when he saw you were… something you wanted. Something you would let yourself want. And oh, did you want.

 

* * *

 

The first time you asked Jordan out on a date, he turned you down. Which really, was a huge blow to your self-confidence because you were finally able to have all of these feelings and you thought he had them too but now everything hurt and was bad, like you were having another panic attack.

 

But then there was a knock at the door and you showed up completely ready to yell at whoever it was only to be met with a very flustered Jordan holding some flowers.

 

“I got these for you.” He stammered out, his eyes wide and his hand shaking. You took them hesitantly, not exactly knowing if these were supposed to be romantic or an apology. He was flushed and you don’t exactly know what to think of him. “I’m sorry. About uh.... Well about a lot of things really, but mostly turning you down? Uh, yeah.” He’s rambling again. Jordan always does when he’s nervous. You bite your lip, not really knowing where this is going, not knowing whether to brace for rejection or to have all of your fears wiped away. “Cause I really do like you, Tom, but I… I just panicked, okay? I didn’t know that you were actually going to ask me or anything but -” This had gone on for far too long, you think as you lean in ever so slightly towards Jordan. He stumbles over his words as you look into his eyes, a bright, clear blue, and he closes the gap with a moment of hesitation.

 

It was magical, really. His beard scratched against your face, and his mouth was so soft how did he do that? It’s by far the nicest thing that’s ever happened to you, and you want to hold onto this moment forever. (and you do)

 

* * *

 

You fall back into your old world after many, many months. You and Jordan are closer than any normal couple would be at this stage (or at least, you’ve guessed.  It took Sonja and Tucker months to even consider moving in together.) Jordan held you through your nightmares, and you held him through his. It was perfect.

 

Then there was all of that shit that happened, and hey, now Dianite has a body and the world was ending. Guess it’s time to go. 

 

At least this time in the void it wasn’t just the four of you. Though, you and Jordan did keep the PDA to a minimum (some, however, did not. Though, you could understand. Ten years was a long time for anyone, even a god).

 

When you saw Jordan’s stupid tree it looked just the same (still as dorky) and you told him so. He just laughed and pulled you into his arms. ‘It’s our tree now, babe.” You were home, finally. You had never felt so free before. No one could hurt you now. Jordan loved you and Dianite and Mot accepted you as part of their family and everyone else liked you. You were finally living the life you had always wanted; the life of someone who is loved.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. Was in a pretty messed up place in the 1st chapter. doing better now, so next 2 chapters will be coming out probably soonish. thanks for the hits and kudos.
> 
> \- j
> 
> (also, changed from 3 chapters to 4 because this one got really long)


End file.
